He talks to himself as he walks the old road ageing Der twenty years past his prime
'tis said of him he is not right in the head though that in itself not a crime
He never had children he never had sex and he may never have a wife
But if all were like him we would not have crime he never has sinned in his life.

He seldom talks to others he does seem quite shy loneliness it is such a sad thing
But in darkness of night walking home from the pub on the roadway he can be heard sing
And he is a fine singer of him it is said to him there's a happier side
Though outside of his Townland he is scarcely known he will never be known far and wide.

That he is a fine artist so few seem to know his talents he never display
Of what he is good at he never talks of and of himself he has little to say
Some of his siblings deceased and some of them live elsewhere and his mum and dad to the reaper long gone
He lives on his own and he does not have friends and one can say he keeps keeping on.

In his own quiet ways he does seem a bit strange 'tis said he's not right in the head
Yet he is not backward a talented man and he is one who is well read
To be a very shy person is his cross in life a loner he drinks on his own
He keeps to himself he does not have a flock and little about him is known.

by Francis Duggan

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